Diamond Life

by Aliya S. King

  “She does have a job. She’s a writer.”

  The cleaning woman blinked. Her face was blank. Bird was glad that Alex wasn’t around to see that. Nothing put her over the edge like someone thinking she didn’t work.

  Bird found her in her usual spot, at the kitchen table. He’d tricked out her home office with every modern tech trinket. And she never went in there.

  “You know, Alex,” he said, leaning over to kiss his wife on the cheek. “I have to pay the cleaning service whether they actually clean or not.”

  Alex didn’t look up from her laptop.

  “So cancel it. I can clean my own house.”

  “I know you can,” he said, a smile playing on his lips. “But the point is you don’t.”

  “I’m working. Can this wait?”

  Birdie nodded and walked into the hallway to several floor-to-ceiling bookcases. He grabbed a copy of Platinum off the shelf and walked back into the kitchen.

  “You promised me that when you finished Cleo’s book, you would take some time off . . .” Birdie said, thumbing through the pages.

  Alex finally stopped typing and looked directly at her husband.

  “You told me to chill for a year,” said Alex. “And I did.”

  Alex took the book from Birdie’s hand and flipped to the page where Cleo had written a message. Alex read it aloud, for what felt to Birdie liked the one-millionth time.

  You should ask Ras about that baby he adopted. There’s a good story there. And if I know you the way I think you do, you won’t be able to resist finding out the truth. You can thank me later.

  Alex shut the book and raised her eyebrows.

  “I have to find out what Cleo was talking about,” Alex said.

  “Why?” Birdie asked, shaking his head. “Why?”

  “I’m a reporter,” Alex shrugged. “That’s what we do.”

  “You know I’m going to Jamaica to work with Ras at his studio. I’m hoping to get a few of his tracks on the album.”

  Alex jumped up from the table.

  “Let me come with you!”

  “For what?” Birdie asked. “We’ll be in the studio all day and night.”

  “It can be a working vacation,” Alex said. “You can do your thing. I can hang out with Josephine and the baby . . .”

  “And snoop around and find out who the baby’s parents are. No.”

  “I won’t snoop! I’ll just come hang out. Promise.”

  Birdie stared Alex down and then his face relaxed.

  “Fine. Come with me.”

  Alex squealed and kissed Birdie on the cheek.

  “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  Birdie looked down at his cell phone and checked a text message.

  “That’s Jen. She’s bringing Tweet tonight,” said Birdie.

  Birdie’s first marriage had ended in an ultra-messy divorce. Five years later, he and his ex-wife were finally able to be in the same room together without turning it into Armageddon. Unfortunately, her relationship with Alex had not yet thawed. Though Alex treated Birdie’s daughter as if she were her own (something that made his heart swell with love for her), she wasn’t a big fan of Jennifer.

  “You okay with keeping an eye on Tweet?” Birdie asked. “I have a show tonight.”

  “Of course,” said Alex. “We’ll be fine.”

  “Alex . . . about the money,” Birdie began.

  “What money?”

  “You haven’t spent any of the money in your budget.”

  Alex ignored him.

  “Where are you performing tonight?”

  “I’m doing a one-off show in Stamford. Opening for Jake.”

  “What are they paying you?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “Nice.”

  “It’s a living.”

  Alex did a half nod and went back to her computer. Bird watched her long, slim fingers move across the keyboard at lightning speed. If he had never actually sat next to her and watched her write, he’d never believe she was actually typing anything.

  “Need anything?” he asked.

  “Cup of coffee would be great.”

  Bird began to brew a pot and then searched for Alex’s favorite creamer. When he saw there was none, he ran down to the bodega to pick some up and brought it right back. When he returned, he started the ritual of making his wife’s coffee.

  You couldn’t just pour the coffee in a cup and keep it moving with Alex. Birdie always felt like he worked at Starbucks when he made her complicated cup. She liked the powdered creamer mixed with a teaspoon of sugar and a splash of milk. And she liked for Birdie to fill the cup with coffee halfway, stir it, and then add the rest of the coffee.

  “Here you go, babe,” said Birdie, rolling his eyes. “Exactly to your specifications.”

  Alex smiled and took a sip. “It’s perfect,” she said.

  Birdie sat down at the table across from her.

  “I’m not trying to say you shouldn’t write, Alex,” Birdie said. “I’m just saying you can do it when you feel like it. Don’t treat it like a job.”

  “But it is my job! I’m not gonna just sit home all day and spend your money.”

  Bird stood up.

  “Look, when you were making more than I was, is that how you thought of it? Was it your money?”

  “No. But that was different. We needed that money to live. What you bring home now is bonus money.”

  Bird dug into the pockets of his jeans and took out a bank envelope stuffed with new, crisp one-hundred-dollar bills.

  “Spend it. Today. I don’t care on what. Buy a whole new wardrobe for Jamaica. Drop it all on one of those fancy bags you always salivate over. Start an account for yourself so you can leave me whenever you get ready. Or donate it to charity. I don’t care. But you better show me some receipts when I get back from this show.”

  Bird couldn’t quite make out what was beneath the surface of his wife’s face as he pressed the envelope into her warm hand. Was it gratitude, fear, loathing, resentment? He had a sinking feeling that it was all the above.

  Ras Bennett had a foolproof formula for figuring out his life’s worth at any given moment. Every so often, he did a mental tally of the major categories in his life, from health to finances to relationships. Once, when he was twelve years old, he sat on a curb at the corner of South Orange Avenue and Twentieth Street in Newark and ticked off on his fingers what was right in his life. His asthma wasn’t too bad and he hadn’t been hospitalized for it in months. His mom had started letting him walk to the store by himself. He was going to the fireworks at Marten’s stadium the next day. And he had three dollars folded up neatly in his back pocket. Of course, everything wasn’t perfect. His father was still on a ventilator, his girlfriend of sixteen hours had just dumped him, and his brand-new bicycle had a nasty flat. Ras clearly remembered standing up, brushing the dust off the back of his pants, and walking his bike to a gas station, having decided that his life was firmly on the not-so-bad side of the scale.

  Ras had noticed even way back then, long before he’d had any success, that when things were high off the charts in one category, they were usually lacking in another. Because of this, Ras never prayed for a financial windfall or six-pack abs. He craved balance over all.

  On a warm and breezy night in his beloved Jamaica, over dinner with friends at Café Au Lait, Ras was having one of those rare moments when he realized that things in his life were as perfect as they could possibly be. That morning, his lawyer called to let him know that a $50,000 payment had been wired for his work with a Brazilian pop band. His daughter, Reina, was on the verge of taking her first steps, and his relationship with his wife was better than it had ever been.

  “Ras? Did you hear me?’

  Ras looked around the dinner table. His wife Josephine was staring at him with a smile on her face. Next to her sat Birdie and his wife Alex.

  “Babe? Are you with us?” asked Josephine, leaning over and rubbing her husband’s forearm.r />
  “Zoning out,” said Ras. He picked up his champagne glass and gestured to his guests to do the same.

  “To love,” Ras said, tipping his glass toward his wife’s. Josephine smiled.

  Birdie and Alex looked at each other and kissed. “To love,” they all said in unison.

  Ras hadn’t been expecting Birdie to bring his wife to the island. They’d booked a few weeks of studio time, and although Alex hadn’t been in the way, he still wasn’t thrilled that she was there. A year ago, Alex had interviewed his wife for a story in Vibe about women married to rappers and producers. And Josephine had given her an earful. Worse yet, Alex had also ghostwritten a book called Platinum for Cleo, a woman who detailed her affairs with dozens of musicians, including Ras.

  The publicity explosion from the book forced Ras to make a hard choice. He packed up, put the house in New Jersey on the market, and moved his wife and newborn daughter to Jamaica. It was the only way Josephine could stop being reminded about all the stories in Cleo’s book. And it was the only way Ras felt like he could actually stop messing with her.

  “How’s the music coming along?” Alex asked Birdie and Ras.

  Birdie shook his head.

  “This is not a business dinner. No talking about work.”

  “What are you working on right now, Alex?” Ras asked. “Any new books on the horizon?”

  Josephine paused with a forkful of salmon halfway to her mouth. She cut her eyes toward Ras without moving her head. Birdie coughed, and Alex looked down at her plate.

  “Not right now,” Alex said softly. “Maybe working on a memoir about trying to have a baby. But that’s it.”

  Ras nodded. He was happy that she felt uncomfortable. He knew Josephine liked Alex. And he accepted that she was his wife’s friend and Birdie’s wife. But he still didn’t have to like the fact that she had helped his mistress attempt to destroy his life.

  Josephine touched Alex’s arm and then sent a warning look to Ras.

  “How do you like the hotel? The views are beautiful, right?” Josephine said.

  Birdie began to speak, and Alex interrupted him.

  “We might as well talk about it,” Alex said. “All of us.”

  Josephine, Birdie, and Ras were all silent, each looking out at different parts of the restaurant.

  “Look, I worked with Cleo on her book, and Ras has every right to hate me because of that,” said Alex, her voice high-pitched and wavering.

  “It’s in the past, Alex,” said Josephine. “We’re moving on. Right, Ras?”

  Ras looked at his wife. Her eyebrows were raised. He nodded and grabbed her hand.

  “We’re working on it.”

  Dessert and coffee were served, and the conversation turned to cheesecake and espresso and the beautiful sunset they could see from the porch of the open-air restaurant. But Ras’s mind was still on Alex. He could not shake the feeling that Alex had ulterior motives for traveling with Birdie to Jamaica. And he just didn’t like the idea of her spending too much time alone with his wife.

  Ras took a deep breath and dismissed the feeling. The important thing was that he was doing the right thing now. It didn’t matter what Alex said. It didn’t matter if Cleo wrote ten more books. What mattered was that Ras had no secrets. He had been faithful to his wife for nearly a year and they were moving into a new chapter in their lives.

  Ras felt his cell phone buzz in his pocket and tried desperately to ignore it. He’d promised his wife he would stop answering his phone and checking text messages during meals. The phone stopped ringing and then he heard a text message chirp. Alex and Josephine had their heads together, whispering about something. Ras took the opportunity to ease his cell phone out of his pocket and unlock it.

  I like your hair like that. Did you cut it?

  Ras’s hand flew up to his head and then he whipped his neck around to see who else was in the restaurant.

  “What’s wrong?” Josephine asked.

  Ras shook his head and kept looking around. Who would be texting him about his haircut? He looked down at the phone. The text message came from a number in Jamaica. Ras racked his brain to think of anyone in Jamaica who would text him and came up empty. It could have been a wrong number. Ras exhaled.

  “I’ll be right back,” Ras said, excusing himself from the table. He walked quickly to the back of the restaurant, typing out a message on the way.

  “I’m pretty sure you have the wrong number.”

  He hit SEND and then pushed in the door to the bathroom. He ran water over his face, wiped his face and hands with a paper towel, and then checked his face in the mirror. His heart was still racing and he couldn’t seem to calm himself. It was just a wrong number, he said out loud. And what if it wasn’t? What if it was . . . her?

  The last time Ras saw Cleo, he didn’t tell her it was over. He had no idea what she was capable of. So he went out of his way to make her think there was nothing unusual about the visit. For ninety minutes, he’d engaged in every twisted sexual fantasy he could possibly imagine and, as usual, Cleo didn’t deny him anything. He kissed her on her forehead when he left, as always. She told him she loved him, as always.

  And when he pulled up to his house, he jumped in the shower and was clean and dressed just as the movers arrived to pack up all of their belongings. He changed his cell number and instructed his bodyguards and drivers—anyone Cleo had access to—to do the same. Within forty-eight hours of their last sexual encounter, he was sitting on the front porch of the house on a former sugar plantation in Saint Catherine Parrish. Just as quickly, he’d put Cleo out of his mind. Or at least tried to.

  Completely forgetting Cleo had been impossible. For the past year, as he repaired his relationship with his wife, he dreamt of his mistress nightly. He had orgasms in his dreams, waking up and quickly stripping the bed before Josephine could find out. One night several months ago, he broke down. He flew out to New Jersey and found out where Cleo lived. He was halfway to her house when he turned back around and headed to the airport. He Googled her often, tracking her whereabouts through the blogs that always posted items about her.

  Lately, Ras had been wondering if he’d ever be completely free of her. Would she always cast a shadow over his life? And now, one year after he’d walked away from her and rededicated himself to his marriage, he felt like he might know the answer.

  Ras left the bathroom and began walking back to the table. His breathing was controlled and he’d stopped sweating. Cleo had not won. He wasn’t over her yet. But she had not—

  Ras’s cell phone chirped again.

  “I can’t believe you would have dinner with Alex but not with me . . .”

  Ras clenched his teeth and marched through the dining room, his eyes trained on the table where his wife sat. If that bitch was anywhere near his wife . . .

  He could see someone sitting in his seat, facing Alex, Birdie, and Josephine. He recognized the jet-black sheet of hair immediately. Ras saw his wife, frozen in her seat, her head held high. She briefly caught Ras’s eye and then looked back at the woman sitting in his seat.

  The woman saw the three of them looking behind her so she turned around just as Ras reached the table.

  “Ras!” Cleo said, smiling wide. “We were just talking about you. So good to see you. Have a seat.”

  Cleo gestured to a chair near Birdie.

  “Get up,” Ras said, through clenched teeth.

  “Don’t be rude, Ras,” Cleo said. “We’re all just having a little chat. Join in.”

  Ras grabbed Cleo’s shoulder and pulled her out of her seat. A few patrons in the restaurant gasped, and one couple quickly exited the restaurant.

  “Get out. Or I will hurt you.”

  Cleo wriggled out of his grasp and then looked down at her dress, a black strapless shift that hit the top of her thigh. She used both hands to smooth out the wrinkles and then picked up her bag off the table and put it on her shoulder.

  “I was just in the neighborhood and I
wanted to say hi,” said Cleo.

  Ras looked toward the manager and gestured for him to come over.

  “There’s no need for all of that, Ras,” said Cleo. “I’m leaving.”

  The manager came over and stood next to Ras.

  “Is everything okay here?”

  “We have an unwanted guest,” said Ras. “We need her to be removed.”

  Cleo laughed loud enough to get the attention of anyone in the restaurant who might have missed Ras grabbing her arm.

  “I’m unwanted. Can you imagine that? This guy”—she pointed to Birdie—“He was more than happy to get a blow job from me in the studio last year. Right, Alex?”

  The sounds of silverware hitting several plates filled the restaurant. Alex and Birdie looked at each other, but neither said a word or revealed any sort of emotion on their faces.

  “And my beloved Ras . . .” Cleo continued. “For years, you came to me whenever I called you. And vice versa. And now I’m unwanted? I never thought I’d see the day.”

  Ras sat back down at his seat and took his wife’s hand. Josephine’s face was stone.

  “I’m going to sit here with my wife and my friends and finish my dessert,” Ras announced.

  Cleo remained standing.

  “It was good to see all of you,” Cleo said. She looked over at Josephine. “Especially you, Josephine. You look amazing. Motherhood truly agrees with you.” Josephine didn’t move.

  “I’m sure your little girl is absolutely gorgeous.”

  Ras felt his wife squeeze his hand so hard that his knuckles began to crack. He knew she was trying to refrain from standing up and punching Cleo out.

  “Do not give her the satisfaction,” Ras whispered to his wife. Josephine nodded but kept her eyes on Cleo.

  “Please, Ras,” Cleo said. “I’m very satisfied. Your wife knows exactly what we have. And she knows that it won’t change no matter how far away you go. You can pack up and move to China. It doesn’t change a thing.”

  Cleo tossed her hair back and turned to walk away.

  “If you ever need me—and I think you might—Alex will know where to find me.”

  Cleo walked away, leaving the foursome in stunned silence. As soon as she was out of sight, Josephine stood up quickly and grabbed her shawl from the back of her chair.